


Knotted Hearts

by januarywren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Double Penetration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Fluff, Good Theodore Nott, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healing, Hermione Granger-centric, Infidelity, Marriage Law Challenge, Miscarriage, Multi, Multiple Partners, No Slash, POV Alternating, POV Hermione Granger, POV Severus Snape, POV Theodore Nott, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, Smut, Sub Severus Snape, Submissive Hermione Granger, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-09-22 23:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: Every morning, Theo would take the elevator seven floors up to her floor. He brought coffee and gossip, and after seeing her gaunt form, he brought her a buttered scone or plain donut with honey drizzled on top too. He’d watch as he teased her; making his gossip more and more outrageous, before she laughed and reluctantly picked at her treat, hiding most of it in a crumb ridden napkin.She wouldn't let him take her to lunch or dinner or meet him at the café where he bought her coffee every day. He didn’t miss the fact that she avoided touching him; her fingers brushing against his only once, before her cheeks turned pink and she turned away abruptly.“Things are different now,” She told him gently.“Yes,” He agreed. “We’re both happily married, and in need of a friend.”“Malfoy isn’t enough for you?” She said, in a haughty tone; one that she used when she was teasing. “Or Zabini or Parkinson?”“Ah, so you do keep track of me.”Marriage Law AU | Theo let Hermione go once, and doesn't intend to again.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [professorflo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorflo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [To have loved, and lost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402901) by [professorflo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorflo/pseuds/professorflo). 
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the talented ProfessorFlo. 💛
> 
> Your story, To have loved, and lost is a painful yet beautiful story that I love 😭💙 The way that you capture how broken Severus is, makes my heart hurt, and the relationship between him and Hermione made me cry. She could change his life for the better if only he would let her in. 
> 
> As for your portrayal of Hermione, it ranks as my absolute favorite. I've noticed that authors tend to make adult Hermione headstrong to the point of being foolish, so involved with a cause that she sacrifices herself, and her relationships with other people because of it. The way that you balance her innate strength with thoughtfulness and humility *is* Hermione to me. I tried to incorporate that into Knotted Hearts, and hope I created a story that you enjoy reading. 
> 
> Your writing is beyond beautiful, and I encourage anyone reading this to check out her work, immediately: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402901/chapters/25540464 !! 
> 
> I re-read it while writing Knotted Hearts, trying to incorporate canon events/facts from your story, and was blown away all over again. Every chapter nails the dynamic you're striving for perfectly, and made me so, so sad for both Severus and Hermione. I can't wait to see where you take it! Seriously! 💙💛
> 
> PS: I fully intended on making this a Severus/Hermione/Theodore story, but no matter how I tried to introduce Severus, it just didn't seem to fit. 😭 I have an idea for an epilogue that could turn this into a trio, and I'd love to know your thoughts (@ anyone reading this!). 💙

Theodore knew many things.

  
He knew that Pansy was obnoxiously happy with her ginger-haired fiancé, despite how she snarled at their weekly lunches while waving one finely manicured hand in his face that she would have one, _maybe _two children but Molly Weasley would never make _her_ lose her figure, unlike Fleur. (Pansy was proud of her twenty four inch waist and thirty-six-inch bust; measurements that had made their way into Witch's Weekly, though Pansy swore up and down she would scratch out the eyes of whoever had told them). He also knew that Blaise made overtures to his wife, Ginny, despite her continued visits to Grimmauld Place, and a certain _Saint_. Potter’s marriage to Loony Lovegood. As for the one who’d given Harry his nickname, Draco was married to Astoria, an enormously boring, yet beautiful heiress they’d gone to school with. Theo doubted if anyone had noticed her visit to an illicit spa shortly before their marriage, and the debut of her straightened nose on the eve of their marriage; when pre-released pictures were given to every newspaper in the country.

  
  
And just as Theo knew about others, he knew things about himself.

  
  
He knew that he was a pureblood, one of the sacred twenty-eight, one that had rights instilled in him since childhood. He’d followed the exact steps of his forefathers; raised by a fleet of half-blood nannies (his mother harboring an intense dislike of house elves, had relegated them to work that kept them purely out of sight), taught a smattering of Latin, French, and enough German to call for a house-elf, and demand a glass of fire whiskey and the newspaper. He learned to charm the ones that mattered, and ignore the ones whose bloodlines occupied only a handful of lines on the social registry; though he dutifully minded his p’s and q’s (“Rudeness is below the Notts,” his grandmother instructed, her jeweled hand grasping his shoulder) and conjure a handkerchief for any crying female, regardless of blood status. Never his own handkerchief, of course, one that had his initials embroidered with golden thread on the corners.

  
  
He knew and respected the conventions of pureblood society: attending Hogwarts, sorted into Slytherin, and become the friend of others like him: Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson, and found a lukewarm reception from their headmaster, Snape, after scrubbing all of his cauldrons by hand, after Neville’s disastrous attempt at making pepper up potion. He knew the rules and played by them, all while knowing if one turned him and another, say Granger, inside and out, they would bleed all over his family estate's marble floors, the exact same.

* * *

With a delicious feeling of shame, Theo had betrayed his bigoted yet comfortable breeding and befriended the infamous Muggleborn in the fourth year. _His_ Muggleborn, if he was entirely honest about his thoughts. (He wasn’t, not yet.). He’d found his way to the back of the library, eager to find an empty table, and found a bushy-haired girl with her nose buried in a book.

  
  
“May I sit here?” He’d asked.

  
  
And without glancing up, she’d said yes, though she’d hex him if he “tried anything funny” or acted like a swot. She’d peered over her page and arched her brow (with a narrow-eyed glare that would have made his father proud) and asked him if he knew what a swot meant. He’d taken a seat across from her and said yes.

  
  
“Draco’s a swot,” He’d said, and she’d stared at him a moment with that same, icy glare before bursting into laughter and been scolded by the passing librarian. She covered her open mouth with her hands, and he'd kept his head down.

  
  
"Sorry Miss Pince -"

"Silence in the library," Pince muttered. She'd been in a foul mood since lunch when she'd spilled pumpkin juice all over her newest book (A Panther in the Sheets); one that she'd been reading at her desk, where no one could see. She'd cast a cleaning spell, and the stains had been removed, but _still_. "There are people studying here, you know!" 

  
  
As soon as she'd bustled away, Theo perked. "Friends?" He whispered.

  
  
"Friends." She agreed.   
  
  
They’d both grinned at each other; she with her cheeks flushed pink, and he with his hand cupping his cheek. And he'd known then, there was more to Hermione Granger than anyone knew.

* * *

  
Of course, he’d taken the wrong side during the war.

  
  
He hadn’t had a choice.

  
Like the swot Malfoy, and Zabini, and all the other pureblood children (Really, what dark lord made children fight for him? Or a wizened old headmaster?) he'd been frightened and desperate to protect his family; as few memories as he had of them, knowing the coo of his mother's owl more than he knew the sound of her voice.

  
  
His friendship with Granger had faltered then.

  
  
Their meetings in the library, a near-daily occurrence since the fourth year had become weekly before they'd become not at all. Her eyes had been too guarded, and his hands had shaken too much (he'd ended up stuffing them underneath his legs and used a silent incantation to turn the pages of his book) before they'd parted ways; both seeming to understand they couldn't believe in impossible things.

  
  
Not until the war was over, as it was in their seventh year.

  
  
They'd both returned to Hogwarts and visited each other as much as they dared to. Granger had still been with her friends; Potter and the Weasel, and his ginger-haired and freckly sister too, while he'd been with his friends. Their gazes rarely strayed to another, yet when they did, they both smiled, even if they didn't wave. It was later when Theo pulled her into dark corridors and kissed her soundlessly that she clutched at his shoulders, and pulled him closer, closer, _closer_.

  
  
He reveled in the fact that he was the one that she wanted.

  
  
And she was the one he wanted too.

* * *

  
  
They’d been each other’s first.

  
  
In the Room of Requirement, with a fire burning in the hearth, and silken sheets about them; they’d slowly and sweetly explored each other’s bodies. He’d kissed her freckles, finding a smatter of them behind her knee, while she trailed her fingertips over his scarred thigh.

  
  
He'd paused to explain, “My first Quidditch game.”

  
  
“How brave of you,” She’d teased, before capturing his mouth with hers. Their noses had bumped, and teeth clashed, and he’d been afraid she would hear how his heart raced inside of his chest. He’d heard Draco’s boasting of fondling Pansy (in Snape’s storage closet, no less) but hadn’t known it could be like this. Awkward and intimate and perfect, as she moaned into his mouth, and his hands fondled her breasts.

  
  
He’d been greedy for his girl, his enticing witch, and covered her body with his own. He’d grown into his thin frame; weakness turning into wiry strength, and his abs becoming taut. She’d looked at him as if he was the one she saw; as if she imagined no other but him taking her. “Please Theo,” she asked.

  
  
And who was he to deny her?

  
  
He’d tried his best to make it less painful; his palm massaging her clit as he thrust into her. He’d whispered how sorry he was as she gasped, and how much he loved her hair and the way she knew all the answers.

  
  
And she’d entwined her arms about his neck and brought him down to her. “You’re the sweetest, Theo.” She whispered, kissing his lips, and the tip of his nose. “You’re giving me a toothache.” A Muggle expression she’d explained later, as they lounged beside the fire, and happily snogged.

* * *

  
  
News of his engagement came swiftly.

  
  
A month before Theo graduated from Hogwarts, the news was splashed across the Daily Prophet, complimentary of his father. He looked across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione stiffened and set the paper aside, before rushing out the room; her curls flying about her and tears in her eyes.

  
  
_Exclusive news! Theodore Nott’s engagement to Daphne Greengrass…_

_  
  
_He’d crumpled the page in his hand and thrown it aside; ignoring the questioning looks from his housemates. “Don’t,” He’d threatened Goyle, and surprisingly the thickheaded boy had listened. 

* * *

  
  
They married shortly after graduation, neither required to take their N.E.W.T.S., Theo assured a position with the Ministry, while Daphne had plans of garden parties at the family estate and breeding a mischievous family of capuchin monkeys; one with three tails and sticky, little paws that loved to turn family portraits upside down (while the relative protested indignantly) and ripped buttons from his dress shirts. The monkeys crowded into the marital bed, petting their mistress's hair and played with her nightgown more than he'd ever had.

  
  
He heard that Hermione worked with the Ministry too, though he never saw her. She’d ignored his attempts at talking to her while at Hogwarts; walking past him, and seeing right through him when they crossed paths, and he was sure she’d burned every letter he’d sent her. Actually, she’d returned them all, unopened and with a polite note from her solicitor to not owl her again.

Regardless, Theo listened for every scrap of news about her, and listened to Draco complain about her; their offices often crossing memos and collaborating on cases. "She's insufferable! Who? Granger, of course." Draco complained over a butterbeer. "She double-checks - no, _triple _checks every document we send her and…” Theo would buy him another beer in sympathy, before listening to Blaise tease Draco about having an infatuation with her, (“You know you’re married mate, yet we don’t hear you talk about your wife half as much as you mention Granger -“) and his sputtered protests.

Regardless, Theo took a post to Bulgaria, where the Ministry was consulting with a collaboration between Weasleys and Krum's over forming a sanctuary for magical creatures; dragons and hippogriffs and garden gnomes and abandoned familiars alike. Theo wondered if a curly-haired girl still had her club dedicated to the freedom of house-elves and kept his membership pin hidden on the inside of his lapel.

  
  
Regardless, Theo left his wedding ring at home, where the monkeys plucked it off his nightstand and the stupidest one, Eros, swallowed it. His mother owled him in hysteria ("Six thousand galleons, Theo! It's an heirloom!") and Daphne laughed at the news, making sure to tickle Eros under the chin and feed him another chocolate biscuit. They both knew the truth of their relationship, without having an interest in discussing it.

  
  
They hadn’t married for something as common, as dirty, as love.

  
  
Off in Bulgaria, Theo gladly rolled up his sleeves and helped erect a pen for a vengeful hippogriff; one that loved to kick up mud at anyone that passed, aside from their favorite caretaker (one that looked suspiciously like a female Hagrid), and had a particular hatred for Theo.

  
  
He’d nicknamed the hippogriff, _Clever Lady_.

* * *

  
  
“I’m sorry.”

  
  
He’d waved aside her secretary and stood outside her office door; rehearsing what he’d wanted to say. Not since the Sorting Hat had he been so nervous; a sickening taste of fire whiskey rising in his throat. If he were honest, he’d been rehearsing for months what to say; perhaps years, after he’d broken her heart.

  
  
And still, none of it seemed right; every sentence he thought of sitting in his mouth like a pile of rocks that he couldn’t dislodge. So, he’d knocked on her door, and entered when she’d called for him to come in and said the only words that felt right.

  
  
“I’m sorry,” Theo placed a steaming cup of coffee on her desk. “I thought that the Greengrass’s had disregarded the betrothal contract after the war, but.” He watched as she set down her pen and looked at the coffee, before looking at his collar. “I was wrong.”

  
  
“You had no choice.”

  
  
Her voice, melodious and clear, was more than anything he’d dreamed of.

  
  
And so, so _sad_.

  
  
“No. I had one,” He admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I could have asked you to run away with me to live as Muggles in London until my family reinstated my inheritance; forgoing the shame of a muggle living son for a broken betrothal.” He’d known his options and chosen the expected one. “I could have asked Malfoy, or Zabini to let us use one of their forgotten properties on the continent, and lived with you there, as my lady, paupers we might be.” He could have chosen the right choice all along. “I could have, _should_ have told you the truth, Hermione.”

  
  
She was silent a moment, wrapping a brunette curl about her finger, before letting it go. She wasn't frizz and teeth anymore; instead, she had tamed her hair into soft curls, and her pretty teeth sank into her bottom lip.

  
She’d become a woman; one with freckles dusted across her nose, and a fragile air about her; one that made any man want to protect her, though Theo knew she was still the fiercest witch he’d ever known.

  
  
“You should have,” Hermione agreed mildly. 

  
  
“Or your assistant.”

  
  
“Yes.”

  
  
She took the coffee and sipped from it; closing her eyes at the sweet taste. He’d added three sugars and a splash of milk, knowing just how she liked it. Her wedding ring glinted from her finger; a plain, gold band that seemed entirely right for her, just as her marriage to Severus Snape was entirely wrong. They’d married before the Marriage Law was announced, and rumors abounded of their passionate romance. One look at the violet bruises beneath her eyes and Theo thought the gossip was terribly optimistic.

  
  
He doubted that his old Headmaster was keeping her up with sweet nights, and sweeter caresses. No, Theo thought, he doubted if the man-made filthy love to her at all.

  
  
“Now that I’ve found your office,” Theo said lightly. “Would you let me take you to lunch later?”

  
  
“No,” Hermione murmured, flicking her hand and sent paperwork careening to the floor; ones that he would kneel and pick up, one by one. “I don’t think I will.”

* * *

  
  
They established a routine after that.

  
  
Every morning, Theo would take the elevator seven floors up to _her_ floor. He brought coffee and gossip, and after seeing her gaunt form, he brought her a buttered scone or plain donut with honey drizzled on top too. He’d watch as he teased her; making his gossip more and more outrageous, before she laughed and reluctantly picked at her treat, hiding most of it in a crumb ridden napkin.

  
  
She wouldn't let him take her to lunch or dinner or meet him at the café where he bought her coffee every day. He didn’t miss the fact that she avoided touching him; her fingers brushing against his only once, before her cheeks turned pink and she turned away abruptly.

  
  
“Things are different now,” She told him gently.

  
  
“Yes,” He agreed. “We’re both happily married, and in need of a friend.”

  
  
“Malfoy isn’t enough for you?” She said, in a haughty tone; one that she used when she was teasing. “Or Zabini or Parkinson?”

  
  
“Ah, so you do keep track of me.”

  
  
Theo knew that he was in the newspapers; his public lunches with Pansy and clubbing nights with Draco and Blaise often photographed and publicized. He’d roared with laughter when Hermione let it slip that Skeeter was an illegal Animagus; a rotten, little beetle that she’d once threatened and kept in a jar for months. Theo had told her she would have made a magnificent Slytherin, and she hadn’t disagreed.

  
  
“You never know, Theo.” She sipped at her coffee, hiding her smile.

  
  
He wouldn’t let work keep them apart, as he sprawled on a chair in her office, and watched as she diligently worked through the thick folders covering her desk. Really, he engaged in the right of purebloods; looking pretty and acting perfectly idle, as work piled in his office, one that was floors below hers. “The Ministry prefers to keep the Notts in the basement,” He’d told her. “With Father’s knack for finance, they mistake us for goblins.”

  
  
Theo too had been expected to follow in his father’s footsteps, and take up the investing trade. He’d had an understanding for numbers, and a love of money (As a child, his first act of accidental magic had been to turn the heirloom koi into knuts and galleons). Yet everything had changed after the war; every pure-blooded family scrambling to retain their good image and recover their reputation. Working for the Ministry was a way to do that, though the Notts weren’t nearly as affected as the Malfoys had been. It made even his mother laugh to see Narcissa parading through the wizarding world as a charitable matron; every debutante finding themselves under her wing, serving soup to destitute half-bloods, and sponsoring wands for Hogwarts students in need.

  
  
No, Theo didn’t mind the legal profession; not when he could use the excuse of paperwork and complicated legal cases to spend late nights at the Ministry or take visits overseas on behalf of the Ministry and his clients. If he’d become an intern at his father’s company or taken up work at Gringotts, he would have been tied to his home and family, without a way to escape. As it was, he spent more time in her office than he did his. He’d moved in, it seemed, and he noted that she had no intention of kicking him out, or complaining to St. Potter who worked as an Auror.

* * *

  
  
At the galas they attended, Theo observed, and Daphne sparkled with every family jewel pinned to her breast, and dangled from her ears, and draped over her throat and wrists, and every pretty finger.

  
  
He watched as Hermione charmed every stuffy official and haughty pureblood.

  
  
She was as regal as Queen Victoria (Yes, Theo knew a bit of Muggle history!) while her husband lingered at her side. He watched as Snape kept his hand on her back, and occasionally placed it on the back of her neck; his fingers caressing her exposed flesh. It was terribly trite; all possessive without bite.

  
  
Theo sneered into his crystal goblet as Snape made off with a haughty pureblood (One that was his second cousin, if he recognized her obnoxious cleavage correctly) and came back disheveled and smirking.

  
  
And oh! How his smirk fell as his wife, his _beloved_ wife, never looked his way.

* * *

  
  
“I brought lunch.”

  
  
Theo grinned as she looked up, startled, and raised her eyebrow. "McDonald's, Theo? You went to - “

  
  
“A Muggle establishment? Yes.”

  
  
He set the grease ridden bag on her desk and pulled up a chair. “You’ll eat with me, won’t you? Seeing as I’m here?” His smile was radiant as he moved documents aside and spread the meal across her desk. Wandlessly he conjured plates and cutlery, before plating French fries and burgers; his fingers playing with their yellow paper wrapping. Muggles could be funny, ingenious creatures, couldn’t they?

  
  
Hermione shook her head. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  
"You do." He replied, meeting her caramel-colored eyes. She'd been gaining weight over the past few weeks and wasn’t looking like Living Death, not as before. Her cheeks had filled in, and curves became pronounced, earning looks from cabinet members. Yet Theo wasn’t a fool.

  
  
Her eyes had never changed, as pleading and sorrowful as a wounded deer. “We all do.”

  
  
He’d heard that Hermione was the source behind the latest whispering campaign, the Ministry halls rife with rumors of the Marriage Law being overturned. Actually, he knew it for a fact, after writing Lucius Malfoy. The bigoted patriarch had always liked him, pleased with his friendship with his son, and his pure bloodline. 

  
  
She took a French fry.

* * *

  
  
Theo was buttoning his greatcoat when a crying witch appeared in his office doorway. “Hermione?” He said, looking up.

  
  
“T-Theo,” She whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  
  
Immediately he crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms about her shoulders; pulling her against him. “The law’s been p-passed,” She hiccupped, her tears staining his shirt. “The Marriage Law’s b-been - “

  
  
“Overturned?”

  
  
He felt her nod against his chest and carded his fingers through her curls. He felt her breathing slow and knew that she'd realized who she was with when she stiffened. "I can't - “

  
  
“Shh,” He murmured. “It’s alright, Hermione.”

  
  
She took a step back from him, and he let her go. “I can’t be with him,” His sweet girl said, her eyes rimmed red. “It’s killing me inside,” she confessed, twisting the end of her blouse between her fingers. “He d-doesn’t love me, Theo. He - “She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

  
  
“He acts as if he hates me."

  
  
_How_?

  
  
How could someone hate the trembling, flushed and crying witch before him? She’d fought valiantly during the war, yet Theo knew she was as fragile as the rest of them; a mere child when she’d been violently forced into adulthood. Still, nothing had dimmed her light; nothing had stopped her intelligence, or her fight to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Nothing, except for her cur of a husband.

  
  
How could he?

  
  
“Hermione - “

  
  
“The way he looks at me, the way he_ talks_ to me when he remembers that I'm there," she said, her voice gaining volume. Theo waved his hand, shutting and warding the door against noise. “It's with hate Theo, _hate_.” She hugged herself tightly, and he ached to reach out to her, his handkerchief weighing heavy in his pocket. “Every week, Theo, every week I lay beneath him while he fucks me like I’m nothing but a _mudblood_. My husband! My husband who will never l-l -”

  
  
She broke off with a cry.

  
  
“I have to give him the papers,” She was shaking her head again, and he could see her thoughts whirling. “I have to leave him, Theo, I can't do this, I _can’t_.”

  
  
He took her trembling hands in his and hadn't let them go.

  
  
“Then don’t,” He said, rubbing circles over her knuckles. “Don’t Hermione, not when you deserve the world.”

* * *

  
  
She came to his office the next day.

  
  
He had coffee waiting for her, beside scones for the both of them.

  
  
She had her beaded purse with her; one that he knew held an assortment of things, his clever witch using an expanding charm on it (as she’d confessed to him over lunch, one day, after pulling out cutlery for the both of them and seeing his questioning look.

  
  
“A portkey,” Theo said as she unfolded her napkin. “It’ll take you to a villa in Venice.” One that the Notts owned and hadn’t used in decades, tucked away in the heart of the city. “Kingsley approved your vacation, as he did mine.” Actually, he’d accepted his resignation; something he wouldn’t tell her, not yet.

  
  
As she looked up, he flashed her a smile. “I thought you’d need a tour guide.”

  
  
Gingerly, she fingered the portkey.

  
  
“What about Daphne?” She asked softly.

  
  
“She understands,” Theo replied. Since the first day he’d gone to her office, he’d begun divvying up his inheritance, and met with independent solicitors about his plans to divorce Daphne. He doubted she would object, not when he had enough to grant her a lavish allowance; one that would keep her and her monkeys eating off gold plates and living with as many garden parties and bubbly as they were accustomed to. Shame from society meant as little to Daphne as did it to him, both having changed after the war. Children had fought for adults; for their parents and teachers and the world at large, and where had that gotten them? He wouldn’t choose right, not again.

  
  
He would choose wrong. 

* * *

  
  
They toured Venice, Milan, Rome, and every museum and tourist attraction between. He bought a camera at St. Marco’s Square and snapped pictures of Hermione as she looked at the statue of David in rapt wonder, and as she laughed when he flicked gelato on her nose. Her laughter wasn’t like when he teased her at the Ministry, instead, it was careless and free.

  
  
There were times when she didn’t laugh at all, days when no matter what he did, nothing would shake the sorrow from her eyes. He held her hand as she walked on the side of a fountain, before she paused, and looked down into the penny filled water.

  
  
“Muggles make a wish, you know,” She told him. “When they throw a penny in.”

  
  
He handed her a galleon and threw in one himself.

  
  
She stared at her galleon a moment, before following suit. They hadn’t spoken about their wishes after, though she took his arm without asking, and rested her head against his shoulder as they walked through the crowded square.

  
  
That night an owl came, one bearing the crest of his lawyer, and with a thick scroll between its beak. "What is it?" Hermione asked toweling off her hair.

  
  
They often stayed in the same room, when they traveled away from the villa, though they only slept - nothing else - in the same bed. There were nights when he felt her shifting and moving, unable to sleep; nights when he turned to her and wordlessly wrapped his arms about her waist and tucked her head against his shoulder. He’d hum a little tune, one that his nurses had cooed to him, and rubbed his hand in circles across the small of her back until she fell asleep. They never spoke about it in the morning, after he woke up with her curls in his mouth, and her scent imprinted on his skin.

  
  
He knew, as she watched him converse over the Floo with his solicitor, that nothing would happen before he was divorced. She’d told him once that she’d tried with Severus (He was never Snape to her) to be a good wife. A dutiful wife. “But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Hermione had remarked to him, and he’d squeezed her hand in reply. Sometimes, they both knew, saying nothing was better than saying anything at all. “It was never going to be enough.”

  
  
And now, as Theo took the scroll from the owl, that everything would change. “A decree finalizing my divorce.”

  
  
Her eyes widened.

  
  
“Theo - “

  
  
He stretched his hand out, offering the decree to her.

  
  
She swallowed, saying nothing as she took it, and read it. “Daphne was pleased to divorce,” Theo said. “She’s happy with her allowance, while my father is in conniptions. Mother too.” He’d been careful to place his inheritance in accounts they couldn’t touch, no matter how they threatened and hexed the bankers at Gringotts. According to his calculations, he could spend several centuries of idleness, before worrying about work; and support a handful of wives on the galleons he had left.

  
  
“Will you - “Her eyes darted to him, then back to the decree. “I - “

  
  
“Hermione -“

  
  
She turned and ran from the room.

* * *

  
  
They made love in the morning.

  
  
She’d slipped beneath the covers beside him and pressed her face against his clothed back. “I can’t marry again,” Hermione whispered. He kept still, keeping his head turned away. “Severus, he - he changed after we married.” Her words were muffled as she kept her head tucked against his back. “That night, he said he’d never love me, that I was nothing like _her_.”

  
  
Lily.

  
  
Potter’s mum. Theo had read Potter’s wartime memoirs, and like the rest of the Wizarding world, knew Snape’s motivation for helping the Order and the Chosen One.

  
  
He turned to face her and slipped her arms about her; pulling her flush against him. “Snape was a fool,” Theo told her. “I see _you_, Hermione, as the beautiful and know it all witch that you are. No one else.” He buried his face in her hair; inhaling her sweet, hazelnut scent. “I’ll prove my love for you, every day, for as long as I live; no matter what I am to you.”

  
  
Friend. Lover. Suitor. He’d be whatever she wanted him to and ask for nothing more; as long as he was allowed in her presence, in her life.

  
  
He felt her shift, and study him with wide eyes.

  
  
“You love me, Theo?”

  
  
He kissed her temple, before drawing his lips over the bridge of her nose and dusted her cheeks with kisses. “I do, little witch.” He murmured and felt her fist the back of his shirt.

  
  
“Say it again,” she begged, the same as a starving man. “Please, if you mean it - “

  
  
He kissed her full on the lips, tempering his own hunger as he sucked on her trembling, bottom lip. “I do.” He said. “I love you, Hermione.” She closed her eyes, as pink stained her cheeks. “I’m yours.”

  
  
“Again.”

  
  
“I love you,” He said without hesitation. “More than I’ve loved another, Hermione, and more than I ever will.” Her hands cradled his cheeks, as her lips returned his kiss. And slowly, sweetly they began to make love.

* * *

  
  
He brought her to life; his head buried between her legs, and his hands holding her thrashing thighs apart. Her cries urged him further; his greedy mouth and lapping tongue making her break beneath him.

  
  
Her release was sweeter than anything he’d ever known; sinful honey on his tongue. He swallowed all of it and nipped at the inside of her thigh, leaving a love bite. She would know that she was his; even if they kept their close relationship from the world.

  
  
She drew him up to her breast and wrapped her legs about his.

  
  
“Take me, Theo.” She whispered, kissing the top of his head. He felt her tears soak into his skin and wondered at the blossoming witch in his arms. He swore to himself that he would protect her then, just as he’d sworn in his office, and never let her hurt; not if he could prevent it. She was a treasure to the world and a treasure to him.

  
  
“I will, sweet girl.” He murmured.

  
  
He took her as if she were sacred; rolling his hips against hers and thrust inside of her slick sex. She keened and scrabbled her hands across his back; as he whispered how he adored her cries and the blush that ran from her cheeks to her chest; all while kissing her lips and her throat, before suckling on her luscious breasts.

  
  
He held her beneath him; his fingers and his mouth seeking to please her, searching for every spot that made her whimper and thrash. He wanted to drown her in furious attention, and as she fell apart in ecstasy, he felt like the most powerful man in the world. He took her again and again; until the sun was high in the sky, and they were lost in each other without end.

* * *

  
  
After weeks spent together, Theo told her about his resignation.

  
  
“You never liked working for the Ministry, did you, Theo?” She asked, blowing on her piping hot tea. She smiled as he cast a cooling charm on it, before resting her head on his shoulder.

  
  
“I only stayed to bring you coffee,” Theo admitted, tucking his arm about her waist. “And to keep sniveling Percy away from you.” He’d cast tripping hexes and cast a charm to keep the precise man’s hair ever out of place; no matter how much gel he applied.

  
  
“Percy?” She asked, raising her brow.

  
"You should have seen the simpering looks he gave you after you'd come back from a meeting with Kingsley," Theo mocked, rolling his eyes. Out of all the Weasleys, Percy was the most disliked, and for good reason. “Or his plans to get you alone in the canteen, to discuss a project.”

  
Hermione shook her head and sighed. “I’ll have to go back sometime - “  
  
“Why?”

  
  
“Why? I need to work Theo,” She said, looking up at him. “I can’t just leave it all behind.”

  
  
But she could, Theo knew.

  
  
“What if there was somewhere else you could work?” He said, playing with the hem of her sweater. “Somewhere that would respect you, and had a host of creatures in need of a protector? Legally and magically speaking.”

  
  
She frowned. “If this is about S.P.E.W…”

  
  
“Ah yes, S.P.E.W.” His voice was mockingly contemplative, and they both smiled; something she did more and more with him. “I’ll pack our bags, and show you what I mean, little witch.”

* * *

  
  
They went to Bulgaria, where the youngest Krum was delighted to see her. Viktor had never lost his admiration for the curly-haired witch and was eager to show her the sanctuary. She toured it with Theo by her side and held his hand in hers.

  
  
She laughed when they came by the hippogriff pen, and Theo confessed the scar on his backside was from Clever Lady. She fed the hippogriff by hand, though both men kept a careful eye on her, as she leaned over the fence; each mindful of the creature’s temper, and the sweet witch’s curved stomach. As if they had to worry, as the hippogriff rubbed its furred cheek against her hand, and playfully licked her cheek.

  
  
“There, there.” Hermione smiled, petting Clever Lady’s ears. “Even fierce creatures need to rest sometimes.” She said knowingly, before returning to the tour. She was like the girl he’d known, as she peppered Viktor and Charlie (after he’d appeared with dirt on his cheeks and sticks in his hair, explaining that the newest baby dragon was feisty from teething) about the sanctuary and its creatures.

  
  
There was nothing she wasn’t interested in, from the mating of garden gnomes, and the projected breeding plans (in the name of conservation) to their views of tourism and private funding. Theo grinned as he saw her thoughts whirring; knowing that the know-it-all they’d grown up with was back.

  
  
Taking her wand from her pocket, she conjured a quill and parchment paper; taking a flurry of notes and, peeking over her shoulder, Theo saw she was already sketching out ideas for how to further the sanctuary’s public image and ways to design a schedule for them to follow.

  
  
“Will you take the position then?” Charlie asked, stamping his foot in the sand after noticing it was still sparking from the dragon’s flames. “We could use you Hermione, and you too, Theo. We’ve been bombarded with requests and contracts from other sanctuaries, wanting to start breeding programs and publicity campaigns.”

  
  
Hermione tucked Theo’s arm about her side. “Yes,” she said. “I think we will.”

* * *

  
It was autumn when they heard the news.

  
  
The sanctuary had fast become their home; their interactions with England mainly through interviews, and press releases, though Hermione had taught Ron and Harry how to use _e-mail_ (over some lengthy instructions sent by owl) and chatted with them daily. They kept their office littered with subscriptions to the Daily Prophet, Achievements in Charming, Witch Weekly (a newspaper that Hermione swore she hated, yet he found hidden in her nightstand), and The Quibbler. It was the last where Theo read that Daphne had made a stunning spectacle of herself in society, earning the ire of matrons like Narcissa Malfoy and Theo’s own mother, when she let her monkeys run wild; crowing with laughter as they smashed bone china plates, and swung from the chandeliers at the Ministry Gala. Contrary to the matrons, Luna Lovegood’s father had been enchanted, earning Daphne an interview on the first page of the Quibbler.

  
  
Just as Theo read the news, others did too. Minerva had owl’d Hermione after learning where she was, (their Floo was warded to allow sanctuary employees only unless otherwise adjusted), from an article in the Daily Prophet.

  
  
Theo lay near the fireplace, his feet on the arm of the couch, and drank from a glass of fire whiskey. Hermione sat next to him, running her fingers through his hair; while she read the letter aloud.

  
  
At least, she had until Minerva mentioned Snape.

  
  
“She wants me to see him,” She said, her fingers shaking.

  
  
Theo turned his head, resting his head against her bump. There was only one _him_, only one ex-husband that had abused her and broken his beautiful girl. “He’s not doing well.”

  
  
As subtle as Theo was, he couldn’t help it.

  
  
He snorted.

  
  
“What, is he ridden with guilt?” Theo asked. “Begging and pleading for you to come back, and using Minerva as his solicitor?” She set the letter aside and chewed on her bottom lip.

  
  
“Minerva found him in a drunken stupor.”

  
  
Ah, Theo thought. He was right. Really, Minerva should have been the head of his house, instead of Gryffindor. The article had detailed their efforts at the sanctuary, and featured a picture of Charlie holding a squirming baby dragon, Viktor with an owl on his arm, and Hermione holding the hands of house-elves; ones that had been orphaned or abandoned during the war, while he looked at her with adoration. His little witch was busy at the sanctuary; combing over contracts and reviewing press releases, and requests for tours, and interviews. Theo too helped with paperwork; especially as the sanctuary prepared to expand, and purchase hundreds of acres.

  
  
Of course, the first thing he did every morning was bring his co-worker a steaming cup of tea, and buttered toast. She’d had a few rough weeks of morning sickness, where she spent more time knitting hats and scarves (with the fluffy owl that was the sanctuary’s emblem, in honor of Hedwig, embroidered on every article) and chatted with Mipsy, a house-elf that had formed a close attachment to them both.

  
  
“She believes he’s dying,” Hermione said, her fingers tugging a bit too hard on his hair. “He’s drying out with the Malfoys but - “

  
  
“You owe him nothing, Hermione. “He said, twirling his glass.

  
  
“He keeps asking for me.” She said, looking at the dancing flames. “I don’t think he remembers that our marriage was annulled.” She wore no rings on her fingers, instead wearing a gold and emerald bracelet, one that was a Nott family heirloom. Her jewelry box was full of pieces he’d given her, new and inherited alike; though she always came back to the first piece he’d given her. “He was different at the start, Theo, he was himself. He was Severus.”

  
  
She paused, thoughtfully adding. “I don’t think Severus was ever allowed to be himself, Theo. He was always playing the role that someone wanted him to and may not even know himself now."

  
  
He set his glass aside. 

  
  
“He made his choices after the war,” Theo replied steadily. “He chose to treat you abominably, Hermione, the moment you married him, so you’d have no choice but to stay with him.” The Marriage Law hadn’t allowed for divorce petitions or annulments, not until she’d fought and won to have it repealed, and Snape had taken advantage of that fact.

  
  
Her eyes closed.

  
  
“I know,” she said. “I know.”

* * *

  
  
Later, he carried her to bed, where he kissed her soundly.

  
  
She was receptive to his kisses; winding her arms about his neck and pulled him closer against her. Their lovemaking hadn’t ceased with her pregnancy; no, it’d increased as he found himself delighted with her curves and reveled in the fact that she was carrying his child. Hermione was pleased by his attention, few mornings going by when she wasn’t rubbing herself against him, and slipping her hand down his waistband or sliding down the covers and resting her cheek against his thigh, before taking him into her mouth.

  
  
Privately, Theo thought they were going to rival the Weasleys with the size of their family; both of them unable to keep their hands off each other when they were alone. Viktor had blushed and wished them good luck when he found them snogging in their office; Hermione spread on his desk, while he cradled her to him.

  
  
“I love you,” He murmured, kissing the spot on her neck that he knew was sensitive. She shivered, and he knew without looking that her cheeks were rosy pink. There were times when he reveled at how receptive she was as if she were a virgin once again. Yet it was chaste touches that made her the shyest; moments when he ran his fingers through her curls, and massaged her neck, or took her hand in his and brushed his lips over her knuckles. She was eager for his attention, and he gladly gave it to her. There were still times when he held her to him a moment longer or kissed her a little rougher as if to ensure that she was real. That she was there.

  
  
“Theo,” She whispered, and he heard her answer in the way she said his name. He knew that she was afraid still; of waking and finding him coldly telling her that he had never - could never, love her, and that their courtship had been a mere dream. If it were, he was determined that she would never wake from it.

  
  
He groaned as he felt her hand flutter about his cock, her touch feather-light. She was shy with her touches, and tender with her words, and he loved her all the more for it. He bucked in her hand, urging her to take him further; and she did, guiding him into her warm center. They both moaned as he filled her; and he rolled on his back, taking her with, and placed her on top of him.

  
  
“Ride me, sweet girl.”

  
  
His hands found her breasts and massaged them; running his thumb in circles over her swollen nipples. She shuddered at the feeling, and her blush deepened as her nipples leaked milk; creamy, decadent milk that he lifted his head and drank. She was perfect, his lovely, little witch. Soon her sweet cries and his low moans filled the room.

* * *

  
He watched as she called for their owl, and carefully instructed it to take her letter to Minerva. She’d tied the letter with a thin, red cord; one that struggled to hold on to the thick wad of parchment. He’d felt as she slipped out of bed and listened to the furious scratching of quill against parchment paper.

  
  
"I said I forgave him," Hermione said, her silk dressing robe sliding down to expose her shoulder. Theo moved to hug her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Minerva wanted us to meet but I…I’m not ready for that yet,” she confessed. “I don’t know if I ever will. I can’t save him, not like Minerva thinks that I can.”

  
  
“Do you even want to?” He asked, knowing the answer.

  
  
His witch was a Gryffindor, not a self-preserving Slytherin, or keen Ravenclaw. Gryffindors were obsessed with boldness, and bravery; anything but the boldest action resulting in shame. Where the other houses could profess fear or uncertainty, a Gryffindor never would. Or never should, as Minerva exemplified, and Dumbledore had indoctrinated in the Golden Trio. They were swots, Theo thought, as manipulative as the Dark Lord had been, in their own ways.

  
  
He kept his thoughts from the woman in his arms, knowing her sense of loyalty.

  
  
“I don’t want him to suffer,” Hermione said, tucking curls behind her ear. “I never have, Theo, not when he broke my heart and now...” She squirmed in his hold and turned towards him.

  
  
She cradled his face in her hands and brought it down to hers.

  
  
“I have you.” She said, resting her temple against his. Her eyes were warm and earnest as they met his; and he bumped his nose against hers, making her laugh. “I have her.” Entwining his hands with hers, he brought them down to rest on her stomach.

  
  
“Or him,” He murmured. “We could always be having twins.”

  
  
“Shush,” She smiled, her teeth flashing. “I have both of you and couldn’t ask for more, Theo. I can’t save Severus; he has to save himself.” Her smile faded then, and she swallowed tautly. “But I can give him my forgiveness and mean it.”

  
  
“Just as I can give my love to you.”

  
  
He inhaled sharply and looked at her; startled. She kept his hand against her bump, and rubbed circles over his knuckles, as he'd once done to her. "I love you, Theo," she said.

  
  
He knew he was lost, forever to her.

  
  
There would never be another; never one that could sink beneath his skin and entwine about his very heart and his beating lungs. There would never be another he could love and be loved in turn; not like Hermione.

  
  
“Truly?” He whispered.

  
  
“Truly,” she said, before saying it again. “I love you.”

  
  
He hugged her close and buried his face in her curls; crooning his love for her in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🤠


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a soft spot for Knotted Hearts, ever since I started writing it, and you all left the sweetest comments! I know that some people wanted Severus's POV and/or a different ending for him. 
> 
> The devotion between Hermione and Theo is something I struggled to expand to allow Severus in and found that no matter what I did, it wouldn't work. It wasn't a case of writer's block but rather, the pairing didn't want it to happen! lol 
> 
> This chapter is an AU of Knotted Hearts, one that has the Ministry upholding the Marriage Law, and refusing to let Hermione escape her abusive marriage from Severus. For Severus really was horrid to her, both in professorflo's work, and in Knotted Hearts, though I still have a soft spot for him. 
> 
> I've noticed a tendency in stories to accept Severus's actions, with comments negatively aimed at Hermione instead, like in The Conract. This is something I feel strongly about, and disagree with it entirely. Severus did suffer terribly, yet he has little right to inflict that upon Hermione. In this AU, I wanted to have a realistic take on their relationship, and the effect that he had on her, as well as her relationship with Theo. 
> 
> Saying that, this chapter *does* have a happy ending, so please, don't worry! I appreciate anyone who reads Knotted Hearts, along with any of my work. It truly means so much to me, and I'm grateful for all of you. I'm almost at 100k views and will be hosting a giveaway for both domestic (USA) and international readers. Thank you! 🖤🦉

Eighteen months passed before they found them.

The Ministry and its Aurors and -

_Severus_.

They’d both known what it meant when a great barn owl tapped at their window, the first one they’d received since running away. She’d slipped from their bed, the sheets wrapped around her, and taken the letter from the owl, her hands shaking as she opened the stiff envelope. She’d known what it would say, with its demand she return to her husband or face Azkaban, but -

Severus's offer to join them, she hadn't expected. 

'_The Ministry has accepted Severus Snape's generous offer..._'

Theo had received his own letter, one delivered by a snarling owl, that informed him of his dissolved marriage to Daphne. In a generous offer, the Ministry said they would acknowledge Hermione's relationship with Theo, officially, if Severus joined them as a trio. The words haunted her still, as she lay next to Theo and her thoughts overwhelmed her. Theo had brought her cups of tea that she knew had Calming Draught in them.

“He won’t change this,” Theo murmured, as he trailed kisses down her neck.

She curled her hands into the sheets, tangling the silk fabric between her fingers. Words rose to her tongue, ones that neither wanted to hear. Theo had told her once, not to give life to things to painful things.

“_They’ll devour you if you let them, Hermione_.”

Their wedding rings lay in the bottom drawer, covered beneath his Quidditch jersey, and a sweater that Molly had made for her. There were some things no one wanted to touch, no one needed to touch.

Theo’s marriage to Daphne.

Hers to Severus.

The law that would let none of them go, entangled as it was with the declining population. It was the Ministry’s way of securing the future, Kingsley promised, its assurance of keeping their world alive still.

Nothing was said of the muggle-borns that haunted the crowded orphanages they had, nor of the pureblooded families growing increasingly infertile. Matches were arranged between them still, betrothals between families upheld, as others scrambled to find a partner before the Ministry assigned one for them.

Theo’s fingers smoothed her knitted brow.

“It’s a world away from us now,” he cooed, and she kissed the inside of his wrist. “You’re here with me, dove, as I’m here with you. Nothing will change that.”

He had little fear of his former Head of House, not as he curled himself about his partner. He was the only one that she had, the only one that she could depend on, something that he never forgot. She had never allowed others to see the reality of her marriage, though some, like Astoria, had remarked on how Hermione's then-husband was rarely at her side during events. Only he had known the truth when he found her sobbing in her office.

His had been near hers, their Ministry departments near each other, before they’d abandoned it all. They’d abandoned the world that knew them, the one that saw him as an ex-Death Eater, who had value only in his bloodline, and she the former golden girl. Hermione was unloved by her husband, while he and Daphne studiously ignored one another, having no interest beyond friendship.

They’d wanted more from love, less from reason, as they fell for another.

Her friends hadn’t understood her decision and nor had his mother, who’d named one of his cousins as her heir. He found he didn’t care, not when everything paled to Hermione. He bathed her in his devotion, whispering everything he loved about her, as he peppered kisses over her small frame. 

They’d both been undone by love and fled from the world they knew because of it.

“Theo,” she whispered.

He bathed her in love as if he could know the trembling of her heart and the hesitance of her breath. Her hand found his, their fingers interlacing. "I'm scared."

Gently, ever so gently, the snake sang to the lion that it entangled.

* * *

Triads were increasingly common, the Ministry official explained.

Daphne had little interest in reuniting with her then-husband, instead, accepting the Ministry's offer to join another couple. She'd remarried Blaise and Pansy, while Severus -

He stood mute in the hallway, his onyx robes clinging to him.

She felt Theo's comforting weight as he leaned against her side, his arm loose about her shoulder as he answered for the three of them. "As for marital _relations_,” the official started, pushing her glasses up from the end of her nose as she read from a thick wad of parchment. “They’re expected once a week, though St. Mungo’s recommends at least twice, for ensured success.”

"Success," Hermione repeated as if she hadn't combed through the paperwork upon her marriage to Severus, memorizing each line by heart.

"For pregnancy, Mrs. Granger," the official replied. "The law dictates you have a child by each partner before the five-year deadline. Failure to comply will -"

“Result in the snapping of our wands and our memories altered, unless we choose a new -“

“Family,” Severus said slowly, his lips twisting into an ugly, little sneer. 

Hermione stiffened as the official continued, heedless of the rising tension in the room. She knew the sight well and felt a thick, vile wad rise in her throat.

It wasn't until the official left through the Floo, that Hermione realized the tight grip she had on Theo's robes or the fact that he'd moved to shield her from Severus's view. She rested her temple against his shoulder before she asked to talk to Severus. 

Alone.

* * *

“Why didn’t you let me go?”

Those were the first words from her mouth after Theo had shut the door behind him.

She felt the familiar weight of her wand in her sleeve and dryly swallowed. "You could have let me go to Azkaban, Sev...Severus and found another, instead of...this."

It'd been their first meeting after the war had ended and she'd still used Bellatrix's horrid wand. She'd been breathless with excitement when Ollivander's had an appointment free for her, and she'd rushed there, only to find that Severus was there too.

Snape, as he was then, was more charming than anyone could imagine, far from the blistering professor that she’d grown up knowing. “_The war changed us all_,” he’d said, knowing the curious look in her eyes. “_Even me, Miss. Granger_.”

“_You look better, sir_,” she’d confessed, before her cheeks had flushed, knowing that she’d cocked it all up. “_I’m sorry _-“

“_Please_,” he’d held his hand up, so large, yet elegant compared to hers. “_I have no house points to take from you, Granger. Call me Severus.”_

And she had, loving the sound of his name on her lips, while he called her by her name, in turn.

“I…”

Severus's dark eyes met her as if he were searching for the girl he'd known.

The girl that he had used, terribly so.

He flinched as if he could read her thoughts. She remembered that he could.

“I am a cruel man, Hermione.”

"I know," she whispered.

She knew that more than anyone.

Slowly, he came before her, and she held herself still, not knowing what she would do if he touched her. He had the right to, he always had, and she’d broken beneath his hand more than once in passion. In tears.

He made no move to touch her, instead, lowering himself to his knees.

His head bent.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and she felt her heart quicken, “I couldn’t let you go.”

“You don’t love me,” Hermione replied, her hands curled at her sides.

He said nothing, and she exhaled a bittersweet sound.

"Theo loves me," she said as she slowly, oh so slowly, closed the distance between them, and looked down at his dull locks. He needed a bath.

He needed someone to care.

“I love him, Severus,” she said, feeling his name fizzle on her tongue, like the pop rocks she’d tasted when she was young. “He…he won’t let you hurt me, and neither will I allow you to hurt me. Or him.” she moved closer still, her robes brushing the tip of his nose. “Neither will we hurt you.”

He was hers, just as much as she was theirs.

He met her gaze again, the surprise in his solemn depths making her stomach twist. Surely…surely, he knew they wouldn't hurt him when he'd made the choice to peruse her? He could have freed himself from their marriage, freeing her as well. Yet he’d kept them bound and was there now.

Somehow, they would find their way through it.

The three of them. In the home that she had made with Theo, in an unplottable in the heart of the wild fields of Ireland.

“I won’t be your penance, Severus.” She’d told him, her hand hesitantly coming to rest atop his scalp. “I don’t forgive you. Not yet. But I…I won’t be a replacement for _her_. ”

He’d said nothing, as he knelt before her still, with his hands at her feet. 

* * *

She’d held him, the first night he'd arrived when the official broadly hinted they should be intimate.

They weren't. 

Not physically, not that night, when she shivered as he crept into the bed they'd made for him. She remembered when he'd made her come alive beneath his elegant fingertips, teasing her relentlessly with his mouth, until all she could think - all she could say - was his name. 

She’d said nothing as he’d buried his face against her shoulder and his tears soaked through her nightgown. Her hands had rubbed circles across his back, feeling the raise of his skin beneath her fingertips from scars long since healed.

He was a little boy lost, wallowing in the shell of the man the war had made him. She’d learned from a diary that he hid beneath the floorboards of the house at Spinner’s End that he’d been an unloved child, an _unwanted _child. A hindrance. Caught between two masters, he’d found himself needed, if not wanted.

She’d swallowed, hearing the harsh intake of his breath.

She'd wanted him more than anyone - anything - once before the law had even reared its hideous head.

He’d challenged her thoughts, both of them reading every article they could lay their hands on, their ache for knowledge one that would never be quenched. He’d been everything that she’d wanted, as he drew laughter from her lips, having cocked his eyebrow and questioned the foam mustache above her lip, from the coffee he’d brought her, and she’d drawn it across his lips. They’d snogged as if they were both teenagers, ignoring the crowd around them at the muggle coffeeshop they’d met. Afterward, he'd taken her to his flat, and somehow, she'd never left.

She knew of his past feelings for Lily, and his true alliances during the war. She’d always respected him as her professor, even when he’d insulted her teeth, and skewered her essays with his distinctive handwriting. He’d confessed to her, when he thought she was half asleep, that he’d always enjoyed reading her essays and the arguments she presented, no matter how long she chattered on for.

“_I played my role well, Hermione_,” he’d whispered, and she’d lain still as he drew his head to her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. “_Perhaps too well_.”

Weeks had tumbled into months as she a part of his life, a part of his home.

A part of him.

She'd dared to love him, her heart never lighter than when she was beside him, until their wedding night when he'd ripped the wool clean from her eyes. He'd wanted to humiliate her, _hurt _her, as he told her his heart belonged with Harry’s mum. “_This was never about love, Hermione_,” he’d sneered her name, and she felt as if he was the old Snape again, the one that had died during the war. Lucius Malfoy had told him of the coming law, one that would demand unions between every eligible magic-user. 

Who better to fuck, as he said than the one who'd saved him on the Shrieking Shack floor?

He’d never asked her to save him, never wanted her to save him, the insufferable know-it-all that he’d been forced to teach during his teaching years. She’d never changed, he said, his lip curling into his trademark sneer.

“_You’re a foolish, bleeding heart Gryffindor still_.”

The words he’d used burned still, as she felt them imprinted on to her skin, the same as _mudblood _was.

Severus had reveled in her tears, gently kissing them from her skin while he had her. It was nothing, he’d told her, but a fulfillment of the law’s requirements. It was her perfume that clung to his skin, but the touch of another that branded him.

She’d betrayed him, she knew, the man that she’d loved when he slipped his mother’s ring on her finger and confessed his love for her. He was a liar.

She knew that too.

Over his shoulder, she met Theo’s gaze.

* * *

Hermione had made a tentative timetable, with Theo beside her, and Severus across at the dining room table. They'd gone with a child-like schedule, one where Theo had her on Tuesday and Thursday nights, while Severus had her on Saturdays and Sundays, as befitted the first letter of their names.

The others were for her to choose who she spent the night with, each of them having their own bedroom in the small manor. It was Theo's suggestion after he'd watched her throw countless wads of parchment paper into the fireplace, to simplify it all.

Her hand had shaken as she wrote their names down in her color-coded binder, Severus saying little, as he watched her. She'd trembled as they all knew the requirements hadn't yet been satisfied, the first night she'd lain beside Severus, nothing physical had happened.

Her body flamed at the thought, yet her heart -

It ached inside her chest, holding everything she couldn’t say.

“I could stay,” Theo said quietly. “I could help you, Hermione, if you wish.”

He’d heard his love as she’d cried in their closet, the first night Severus had stayed with them, and she’d known that he needed her. Theo knew there was a tie between them, one that hadn’t been undone by her love for him.

In his private of his thoughts, Theo hated and envied his old head of house. He called him ‘by his first name, in the same cool tone that Draco had used when calling him ‘professor’ when he was outside of Hermione's hearing. 

There were thoughts he had, thoughts he would never give life to, as he considered the cost of taking Hermione away.

Again.

They were thoughts - dreams - he knew wouldn’t happen.

As it was, they had little to say to another; Theo working on the project that Lucius Malfoy had commissioned him for, while Snape brewed in the private lab the manor had. He fulfilled orders for St. Mungo’s, brewing particularly volatile, and scarcely found potions.

Hermione had her reading, her familiar that played alongside his fox, and her studies as she sought to bring her parents memories back. Hermione stayed with Theo, helping him with the time-turner, alongside bringing Snape a daily cup of ginger tea, with a single, spoonful of honey that she would leave near the basement door.

Theo knew she needed more.

Deserved it.

They both did, and as his fingers twitched, he thought if Severus could be of use to them, it would be a wonder.

“Theo -“

Hermione’s tentative gaze met his, as she nibbled on her lower lip. The pretty pink flesh reddened under her attentions, a movement that both her partners watched in rapt attention. (Though, Theo thought, Snape had little idea how much he watched him nor how he would always watch him, secure in the knowledge that he would never allow Snape to hurt his little dove again).

Her hand found his beneath the table, giving it two squeezes. He knew she was afraid of Snape hurting her, as raw as she would be during intimacy. He’d stayed the first night, as she’d held Snape, while he sat in a leather chair near her bed. Snape had little idea of it still, though this -

This would be different.

“I…” Hermione hesitated, shifting her gaze to Severus. “Would you -“

Severus inclined his head toward her.

“I don’t know if I can,” Hermione said, looking down at the table. “Be intimate with you.”

Her finger traced the deep grooves of the wood, following their curve.

“Without Theo there.”

Theo had whispered the idea into her ear, as he had her over his desk. ‘_I’ll protect you, little dove_,’ he’d promised her, and she’d believed him, as she hadn’t believed anyone since Severus. ‘_We’ll satisfy the law and he’ll revere you_.’

Gods, how she’d wanted it to be true.

“Then he will,” Severus answered, his voice lacking the hideous edge it once had toward her.

* * *

Severus felt familiar eyes upon him, as the floorboards creaked beneath every step.

His hand rested on the door, the room behind it one he’d just explored.

The wards, pitiful as they were, had made him curious; the former spy that he was. They’d been easy enough for him to break, as he slipped into the room, and found that it was a nursery. There'd been an iron-wrought crib near the window, and a rocking chair in the corner, alongside a dresser with baby books on it.

A fine layer of dust covered the cheerful room as if it had gone untouched for weeks.

_Months_.

Yet what caught his attention was a framed photograph of Hermione, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her in a lacy sundress, laughing as the person behind the camera made her laugh. Her hands fluttered to her waist, stroking the distinctive curve of her stomach there.

Severus made a choked sound before he looked away again. None of it was for him to see, to know after he'd pushed Hermione away ore than he ever had anyone. Even Lily, gods above, who he’d sneered and called a mudblood. It was nothing like how he’d spoken to Hermione, how he’d treated her, as he looked down at her and taunted her cruelly.

And why, he wondered, had he?

He’d felt an ache in his chest, an emptiness there, in the new life he’d been given. He’d shoved it away, feeling it press against his ribs still, and had gone half-mad from it. He hadn't wanted it, the life, the light, and had lashed out at the woman who’d given it to him. She’d been a girl when she saved him, amidst the horrifying war, and had wanted nothing more than for him to live.

And he had hated her for it.

No -

He’d resented her and wanted her and had felt every harsh word he said to her pierce his skin, though it was nothing, nothing compared to how he made her feel. He had seen the light as it dimmed in her eyes and knew the burning fire inside of her had faltered beneath his hand. He'd wanted her to be nothing without him, nothing beside him as if he had a right to take her light from the world.

She was the brightest witch of her age, the only one of the Golden Trio that he respected and had wanted her respect in turn. He heard the neglected boy that he’d once been, cry out inside him, and beat against his ribs every time he taunted her. Every time he sneered at her. Every time he pushed and pushed and pushed her away.

Until there was no farther, she could go.

She had left him, and he’d been a man undone; one who had wasted away drinking firewhiskey and cast spells in the night, simple, silly spells that would make any child laugh. It was the only entertainment he could find, the only thing that broke the monotony of his days, aside from when Lucius Floo'd to see him and drank beside him.

Lucius was proud of his avoiding Azkaban, the Malfoy family’s trial before the Ministry seeing all of them declared innocent and free. It had taken nothing more than several discreet donations to secure the decision, and Lucius was proud of his family name still yet wore his sleeves as long as Severus did. Even in the privacy of his home, Severus rarely exposed the mark on his forearm, feeling it well enough in his dreams.

It was only after Lucius had carried on about Draco's betrothal to the Greengrass girl, one that Severus remembered as being discreet and mouse-like, that he'd asked where she was. "_Who_?” Severus had asked, holding his glass up to the light. The amber liquid gleamed from within, his haggard reflection taunting him.

“_The mudblood_,” Lucius replied, amusement painted across his lips, as his friend visibly recoiled from the word. “_Surely you’ve known me long enough to tell me if you’d snapped her wand and sent her away_.” He’d tilted his head, watching the scowling man, the same as he would his peacocks when they misbehaved. “_Have you, Severus_?”

“_I haven’t_," Severus replied, his eyes colder than the man had ever seen them. “_Hermione left me for another.”_

“_How distasteful_,” Lucius sniffed.

The affair had been suppressed from the papers, though Lucius knew well enough of the little mudblood’s affair with his son’s friend, Theodore Nott. He wasn’t surprised that the girl hadn’t been able to handle her affair discreetly as a pureblood or even half-blood wife would.

Where would it even go? The chit couldn’t marry the man, even if his wife would let him go. Nor would their filthy children, if they had any, be recognized in the inheritance.

“_No more than you calling my wife a mudblood_,” Severus retorted.

Thick silence had settled between them, as both drank from their cups, and Lucius stumbled to the Floo afterward. Severus hadn’t seen him again, knowing as he left, that he_ refused_ to see him ever again. Why, he hadn’t allowed himself to say, let alone recognize.

“Hermione,” he choked. His stomach twisted then, as if never had before; as he felt guilt course through his veins, more than he’d felt when he clutched Lily close in his arms.

He loved Hermione.

He loved her, and he’d done nothing but push her away. He’d listened to her cry in the guest bedroom, the night after their wedding she’d moved into the room and had done nothing. He'd allowed her tears, reveled in them as if she were the same as his former masters when all she had done was cherish him.

He'd pressed his fist against his chest before he left the room and raised the wards behind him. What he’d seen - what he’d thought - had crept beneath his skin, like a tick, burrowing there.

“Did you want them?” Severus asked, not turning to look at her. “Before…this? Before the law?”

He always knew what he shouldn’t ask.

_‘Don’t go there, Sev_,’ he heard Lily whisper in his ear. ‘_Do you really want to know_?’

He didn’t.

He did.

His eyes closed, he heard Lily’s voice less and less. Yet the familiar feelings of longing and pain, naked and devastating, didn’t wash over him. Only a longing to hear the witch’s reply; the witch who was there beside him, and whose heart boldly beat with life.

Her curls tickled his arm, as she lingered closer to him than she’d ever been.

“I always did,” Hermione replied softly. “With you.”

He felt his heart break then.

* * *

It was his night again.

Severus.

Behind his closed door, in his bed, the three of them lay.

Their breathing was heavy, the smell of sex heavy in the air. It was filthy, what they’d done, as Theo had held Hermione against him, and guided Severus to her. He’d known they both needed direction and had decided to play a dominant role between them, regardless of the night.

He’d held his chin in his hand, his fingers leaving bruises behind as he whispered for Severus to kiss her, as he never had before.

As if she were someone meant to be adored.

Theo had directed their pace as if they were two, blissful puppets on a string.

He’d moved Severus down, down to her quivering chest where the man had licked and sucked until she’d been whimpering his name. Nor had Theo neglected her, as he snaked his hand between her thighs, and pushed her thong aside.

He’d made her keen his name, as he’d slipped his fingers inside her, and reveled in her slickness. “Taste,” Theo had cooed, as he brought his hand to her lips. She’d suckled his fingers, tasting her musky taste on his skin and whined at the loss of him. She was aching for him - his fingers, his tongue, his cock, any part of him that he would offer.

“I need…I…” she mumbled; her eyes heavy with desire.

The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come to mind, as she felt them cling to her lips. Theo would know, her mind reassured her, Theo _knew_. She could fall apart in his arms, and he would always bring her back to him; turning her thoughts to him, and coaxing moans from her lips, until she told him everything she dreamed of.

She wanted him to see all of her, and -

Severus too, when he could be trusted, when it didn’t hurt as if it felt she would die -

Theo brushed tears away from her cheeks, shushing her softly. He’d put her back together in the blissful months they’d spent together, even when she’d been buried in thoughts of her parents, the ones she’d stripped of their memories to protect them during the war. “_I’ll be everything you need_,” Theo had whispered to her, drawing his lips down her cheeks. “_Anyone you want me to be_.”

Now, he would show Severus who to be too.

“She wants to be filled,” Theo murmured, watching Severus as a predator would watch their prey. “You won’t deny her, will you?” his voice had been silk against her skin, and she’d felt nectar drip from her.

She would give them everything she had to give, and more.

Her thoughts became incoherent as Severus drew his head down to her thighs and filled her with his tongue. He’d lapped at her juices and teased her cunt with his tongue. His nose. His fingers.

She’d wanted to buck against his face, and had desperately tried; little, soft moans slipping from her. But Theo, her Theo, had held her still and whispered in her ear what a good girl she was. 

An _obedient_ girl.

She resisted squirming, a part of her loving the praise that he covered her in. He knew there was a part of her that was a hand-waving swot still, a lonely girl who’d wanted nothing more than someone’s approval.

Someone’s love.

They’d had games like this before, nights when he’d edged her until she writhed against him and begged him for more, from the feel of his fingers alone. Yet never with another, never with him -

And Theo had known exactly what she needed, as he grasped Severus’s hair, and pushed his face deeper into her. She’d felt as she soaked his face with her release, yet she hadn’t been able to resist it -

“Severus,” she sobbed, feeling his greedy mouth devouring her release.

And then - then -

Theo had guided her to her hands and her knees, with Severus beneath her, and he behind her. “We'll take care of you," Theo whispered in her ear and curled his arms about her midsection. She'd been helpless to resist, as they took her as if she was theirs to do anything with. She’d been dripping with lube and cum and had wanted nothing more than to have more.

She wanted to give herself to them, as she sought Severus's mouth with her own, and he wound his arms around her neck. "Hermione," he'd murmured against her lips before his tongue had snaked into her mouth, something he'd never done before.

The room was filled with the sound of flesh against flesh, as Theo rutted behind her. His thrusts into her bottom were slow and precise, as he made her gasp against Severus’s mouth. And Severus -

He’d thrust his member inside her, thicker and shorter than Theo’s was. It’d made her gasp as she was filled from both of her channels, and she shuddered between them, the men that she loved.

One, she trusted.

The other, she longed to, as he groaned against her lips. He slipped his hand down to her breasts, and fondled them, rolling her nipples between his fingers, and making her pant.

Everything they did made her feel _alive_, as she felt their magic become one. It was more than fulfilling the law, it was becoming one with another, as they increased their pace. Their bodies were coming to know hers, as hey never had before, and she cried their names in turn. She couldn’t get enough, as they stretched her, and she embraced the burn; her body engulfed in flames.

That only they could encourage, only they could douse with the fulfillment of their release; as they all came in tandem, crying out blissfully. The lit candles in the room extinguished as they pumped their release inside her. It was too much, too little, just enough.

“Please,” Hermione cried,” please, please, please -“

She was cresting and falling, and their hands caught her, as she collapsed against Severus’s chest and Theo lay against her back. She felt the weight of them behind and below her, knowing they were solid and real.

She never wanted them to let go.

* * *

Hermione rested her hands on her knees, while her breath coming in quick, little pants. “We couldn’t use magic for this?” she asked, and Severus smiled wryly.

“Apparently not,” he replied, not adding that she’d been the one to decide they couldn’t.

He upturned the soil, handling his shovel easily. His wiry muscles strained against his shirt, and Hermione’s eyes darkened as she watched the sight. They’d decided on making a garden, one where they could grow herbs for their potions, as well as an array of colorful flowers that they could see from the manor’s windows, no matter what bedroom they were in.

“Silly wife,” Theo said, kissing her on the cheek as he dropped beside her. He’d been tasked with digging a space for the fishpond. It was a feature of his childhood, the Nott manor having a host of fishponds that held his father’s prized koi.

If only his father had known how muggle it was, Theo thought. His lips quirked in amusement at the thought of his turning in his grave at the knowledge.

Unlike him, Theo reveled in his muggle lover, and the things she taught him. They'd stayed living in their secluded manor still, yet frequently took trips into muggle Dublin and London. There, no one batted an eye at the woman with two men by her side; one with a charming smile, who easily whispered things in her ear, while the other, with dark eyes and a distant manner, made people turn from them. The way that he looked at the woman was too naked, too intimate, for people to see, as if he would die for her.

Only the woman knew he would live for her.

Slowly, Hermione was finding peace with her partners and had begun to write a series of books for Hogwarts, ones that helped introduce muggle-borns to the magical world they entered. Minerva (who now saw Hermione weekly, thoroughly enjoying the student that she'd always considered to be her daughter) was delighted by the idea and promised that she would send her books to all muggle-born students, alongside their letter to Hogwarts. 

“Magic makes the soil more volatile,” Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “If we do it the muggle way, everything we grow will be more stable for potions.”

Severus cocked his head, pausing in his work. “The idea has merit, though_ please_ tell me it wasn’t Rowling saying this.” he scoffed at the thought, recalling the author that Hermione loved, while he thought the woman was a bit like Lockhart.

They’d found a fondness in their debates, the malice of the past replaced with an undertone of playfulness (except on the subject of Neville, who Hermione stubbornly argued belonged in Gryffindor, while Severus and Theo argued he was a misplaced Hufflepuff).

Hermione didn't reply, instead, leaning against Theo. He readily slung his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close to him.

And Severus -

He too took a break from his work, moving to sit on the other side of Hermione. There was room for the three of them on the concrete bench that they’d made, one where they’d drawn their initials on as if they were children again. Severus, Hermione knew, had never been able to have a childhood, and had coaxed him into it (with a couple stolen kisses behind Theo’s back too). 

The months with him at her side, months where she'd come to truly know him, and he allowed her to see his soul, they'd become more than married partners. They'd become friends, as Severus filled the void left by her diminished friendships, and Theo had found them curled together before the fire. Hermione had been fast asleep, with her head on Severus's shoulder, while he'd quietly read beside her. 

It was that night, Hermione had whispered she forgave him. 

And in turn, he said that he loved her, more than anyone before.

"_Truly_?"

"_I won't lie to you, Hermione_," Severus replied, his eyes naked with their vulnerability. "_I love you. Only you_."

It'd taken weeks after that, for Hermione to tell him she loved him too. She'd never stopped, something Theo had known, though her love was equal for him too. They had an easy affection with another, as he teased her more than the twins ever had, and coaxed her to relax with him. She knew that nothing would be the same without Theo, flinching at the thought of living without him, or Severus. They had their rows and brilliant fits, just as they filled the manor with laughter and devotion. 

At her feet, two kneazles played.

After Crookshanks had passed away, Theo had surprised her with a kneazle from a private breeder he'd found. Her new familiar, one she'd named Leo, loved to chew on her curls and play with her fingers, though he somehow knew to leave the tomes that filled the manor alone. Only weeks after adopting him, the breeder had called offering them the runt of the litter, and they'd taken her. With emerald eyes and twitching whiskers, Luna had become Theo's familiar, as well as Leo's closest friend. The kneazles tumbled and playfully nipped at each other, while Severus's familiar, an independent raven named Orion, watched from the tree above them. 

“It’ll be worth it,” Hermione defended, casting a wandless Scourgify on herself and her partners. Magic did have its uses, she laughed, despite her curls wildly springing about her. “The flowers will always be in bloom since we’ll make different sections depending on when they bloom and -“

“Take a deep breath, dove,” Theo teased her, gently combing his fingers through her curls. He managed them into some semblance of order, looking far less than the lion’s mane of before.

"He's right," Severus hummed, his hand finding hers. She readily tangled her fingers through his and allowed him to squeeze her hand, before moving to rest their hands on the curve of her stomach. She wore a golden ring on her ring finger, one with two snakes curled about a brilliant ruby. "As are you, Hermione.”

Theo too found her other hand and tucked it against his side. “Ten points to Slytherin,” he said smugly. “And five to Gryffindor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🤠


End file.
